


The Golden Dragon

by DarthImperiusArchive (DarthImperius)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Crossover, Gen, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-20 17:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16141916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthImperius/pseuds/DarthImperiusArchive
Summary: Having lived a long life, the soul of an aged Harry Potter is sent against his will into another world, to be reborn as the child of Daemon Goldfyre, the King of the Stepstones and blood of the dragon. The dragons of the Narrow Sea may be of other colours, but their words are the same as those of their ancestors - Fire and Blood.





	1. A Golden Future

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and the A Song of Ice and Fire series belongs to George R. R. Martin.

_**Author's Note:** _

Another plot-bunny story. They do breed like rabbits, it seems.

This one follows a little concept that came to me in the last few days, and I decided to see what would come of it. The story follows a specific scenario I conjured, involving a few OCs, both dead and alive in the story, and a little manipulation of the story of Westeros presented to us by GRRM. The story may follow a mix of book and TV lore.

* * *

_**Chapter 1 – A Golden Future** _

Harry Potter knew one thing.

He was old. Very old.

Not as old as Dumbledore managed to be, but old enough. He had even received one of those letters from the king himself, a token for having reached his one hundredth anniversary. Even the Ministry of Magic had arranged a celebration for the occasion, not that it mattered much to Harry, as these affairs became rather tiresome for someone like him. At the age of one hundred and four, he wondered how Dumbledore had managed to have so much vigour in him, considering that the late headmaster of Hogwarts had been around one hundred and fifty years old at the time of his death.

But he had lived a long life, longer than many. But he had no wish to emulate Dumbledore, considering how his body was roughly that of an eighty-year-old man, his magic nature preserving it enough, but not well enough. But these days, he did very little. The afternoons were usually spent listening to the radio, or reading the newspapers, be they muggle or magical. Today he sat there too, listening to some random frequency, eventually falling asleep. Yet the nap was soon interrupted by the sound of someone knocking on his front door.

Whoever it was, they kept knocking on the door. The bastard probably though some young and vigorous person lived inside.

"Coming!" he shouted, before mumbling under his breath. "Bloody kids."

He reached the front door, and as he turned the handle, Harry could not be less prepared for what stood on the other side.

"Wha… what?" he whispered in shock and confusion.

In front of him, was an exact replica of him. Or rather, an exact replica of how he had been during his teenage years.

But the boy in front of him was strange. His eyes could be best described as lifeless, and his skin was pale. Were it not impossible, he would say he was looking at his own walking corpse.

"Hello Harry," said the stranger, the voice was sweet and warm like a summer afternoon. "I've come for you."

The teenage figure stepped forward, taking advantage of his shock, and putting a hand on his shoulder, he guided him back into the living room. He had stopped in his tracks upon looking at the armchair where he had been sitting but kept going forwards at the behest of his lookalike visitor. Alas, if his eyes were true, then he had never stood from the chair, as there he was, still and eyes closed, head slightly slumped to the side.

He was looking at his own corpse.

"I… I'm dead?"

This experience was much different from the last one. There was no train station, nor Albus Dumbledore there to speak with him. He was still in the study of his home, accompanied by a strange who wore his face, and his own dead body.

"As dead as a dead man can be," answered the other. "I assume you can figure what I am, no?"

Harry looked at the boy in front of him, narrowing his eyes. "Some sort of psychopomp? A spirit, or an angel of death?"

"Yes and no. I am a concept… the ultimate reality… the undiscovered country, from – "

"… from whose bourn no traveller returns," finished Harry. "Act three, scene one. I've read Hamlet."

The figure smiled.

"It is a curious thing. Always present… not mattering the location. I don't personally go to collect everyone who dies, just the special ones… and you are very special Harry."

Harry scoffed. "Special… Is that why you choose to wear my face?"

"It happens to everyone. You die and get a personal visit – you see me as yourself, dead," answered Death before looking down at the form he took. "The age may be random."

"So it seems. Well then, where will I go?" asked the wizard. "Heaven, Hell, Elysium, Helheim, Sheol… ?"

"Alas, I'm afraid it's not eternal rest for you yet."

"Why not? You're not putting me back there, are you?" he demanded, pointing at his corpse.

"Of course not. That one is ready for the grave. You will be sent to a world similar yet different from this one. You would describe it as medieval, I believe. Things are afoot there that are an affront to me. I care little what happens to a soul after it passes onto the afterlife. If they are returned to life, so be it. All that lives dies again. But if there is one thing that I do not tolerate, are those who cheat me, the undead, and those who create them. In this world, you dealt with a man who cheated me and also created undead beings. Now, you'll deal with the last two," said Death, with a finality that Harry found hard to defy.

Harry glared at the figure, feeling no satisfaction at having to take the role of hero again.

"Why pick me? Why not someone else?"

"Because you're a beacon of death, and I like that… well, I say like, heh."

"So, am I supposed to be enslaved to another prophecy in this next world of yours?"

"There is no such thing as fate, Harry Potter. Prophecy is the folly of fools, a guideline not a rule. All that matters are the actions of mortals. Your doom is brought to you by your actions, and those of others, no cosmic figure involved."

Harry kept himself silent, thinking on what to say next. This entire situation wasn't going on his favour, and there was no plausible way he could go against the wishes of death. But perhaps he could salvage a few things from this deal.

"Will I have my magic?"

Death nodded. "If you so wish."

That was just too simple. "What's the cost?"

"Cost? What cost? In case you haven't realized, I want you to succeed. What's the point in putting a cost in something if it will hinder your progress?

Harry sighed.

Very few of those he knew were still alive. Ron and Hermione had passed a decade ago, and Ginny had gone before them. The legacy that Shacklebolt and Hermione had left in the Ministry and the British Wizarding World was as strong as diamond, and blood supremacy was all but eradicated in the isles. He had hoped to see them upon dying… but even that was now barred from him. If he had luck, the next time he died, he would see them again.

"What will happen to me?"

"You will be reborn in a nameless world to a family of high standing. You will have no immediate memories of this life, but they will slowly come to you. After that, it's all up to you."

Harry nodded in defeat.

"Can I ask for something?" he said. "If you can do it, that is."

"Ask."

"Can my memories be reduced? I have no wish to remember the last fifty years of my life. Could you make it as if I died younger, but keeping the knowledge of magic I gathered over the years?"

Death looked at him with confusion.

"A strange request, but I suppose it can be arranged. Your memories shall come to you, and I shall also grant you a few boons."

"Boons?"

"Like your memories, they'll come gradually. I am expecting many things Harry Potter… many great things."

That sounded strangely familiar, if not ominous.

"What exactly are you expecting?"

This seemed to have been the right question, the smile on the face of Death eerily mischievous.

"Fire and Blood."

* * *

It was the year of 283 after Aegon's conquest of Westeros, and the sun shone brightly over the islands of the Stepstones.

It had been fifteen years ago that the small archipelago had been conquered by Duncan Goldfyre, the legitimized bastard son of the late Prince Daeron Targaryen, who quickly proclaimed himself as 'Duncan Goldfyre, the First of His Name, King of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea', as Daemon Targaryen had done so many years before. This time however, there was no alliance of Tyrosh, Lys, and Myr to oppose the conquest, the three city-states far too busy with the Disputed Lands. And the Iron Throne had begrudgingly accepted the newly forged independent realm of the Stepstones, a few background deals having been set between the two realms.

But it had been a year since the premature and accidental death of Duncan Goldfyre, and now it was his son that ruled over the islands.

Daemon Goldfyre paced around his study. This was a critical moment, one that he could not help but feel terrified about. It had been a few years since his marriage with Jeyne Lannister, eldest daughter of Kevan Lannister and his wife, a marriage which had been approved by both his father and the Lannisters. Yet he had picked the wrong time to get his wife pregnant. Not that he was complaining about the possibility of an heir, but Baratheon's rebellion made him feel uncertain about the future of the Targaryen bloodline.

A bloodline which he had the duty of preserving, no matter the cost. A duty which the Targaryens had shirked. But family ties be damned, he was not about to offer any assistance to either Aerys or his spawn. The man was mad, and his eldest son and heir had his brain in the lower regions of his body, which in turn had led to the damned rebellion. The fact he was already married to Elia Martell and that the two had children made things even worse.

His thoughts were quickly interrupted by the sound of footsteps, and he turned to see Archmaester Marwyn entering the study.

That man was possibly the only good thing that had come out of the Citadel, although much of his knowledge had come from his travels and personal experience, rather than dusty tomes made by bitter men. He didn't trust the Maesters, not knowing how their high ranks felt about the higher mysteries of the world, and its most fantastical creatures. Nor did he trust the Faith, who hoarded more gold and riches than the dragons of children's tales. Such opinions were once of Duncan Goldfyre as well, having experienced a world outside of Westeros before and after the conquest of the Stepstones. The only gods Duncan Goldfyre had come to pray to were those of Valyria, and it was a great surprise to both him and the late king when Jeyne had requested that their wedding be performed in Valyrian tradition. That very action had possibly earned her the approval of his father.

"Your grace, it is done."

"And?"

"A boy," announced the maester. "Healthy and loud."

A smile graced Daemon's face, one which he usually reserved only for his beloved wife. He had an heir… Bloodstone had an heir.

"But the queen is weak, your grace," continued the man. "The effort seems to have been great. She may have to fight for her life."

The smile quickly vanished. Daemon rushed from the study, running as fast as he could to the birth chamber. Bursting in, he saw his wife's skin and clothes smeared with blood, the covers of her bed stained red as well. Immediately he went to his wife side, kneeling so that he could be at eye level.

"Daemon… we…" many were the breaths of Jeyne Lannister, who struggled to form a sentence. "… we did… we did it…"

He was grasping her hand, almost as if letting go would cause her death. "Yes, yes we did. But you must be calm now, you have to rest, so that you can meet your son. You want that, don't you?"

The weak nod and smile from her was almost enough to relight his spirit.

"Your grace," said the maester, putting a hand to the king's shoulder. "Allow me."

Daemon rose, his eyes closed, and nodded.

"Do whatever you can archmaester."

* * *

The following hours were absolute misery for Daemon. The love of his life was on the brink of death, right after giving birth to their son. In all this chaos, he had not even thought about seeing his own child. But the young one was likely in the same room as Jeyne, and his presence there would likely disrupt Marwyn's work.

But at the sound of footsteps, he immediately turned towards their source.

"Tell me you have good news," pleaded Daemon as the maester approached.

Merwyn's face was calm but with a hint of satisfaction.

"Her grace is currently asleep. She will survive, but a few days of rest are needed for a complete recovery."

The king of the Stepstones fell on the closest chair.

"Thank the gods… and you," said Daemon. "Blessed be the day my father met you Marwyn."

Truly, this man was a godsent.

"Can I see them?"

"Both are asleep

Daemon nodded, getting up his heart still beating heavily from the panic he had felt. But now it was time for him to meet his son and heir, the one who would succeed to the

"So… what will the child's name be?" asked the maester.

It had already been decided by the two. Had it been a girl, the baby would have been called Rhaenyra, yet since it as a boy, the name they had chosen was Haerys, a shortened and quite rare variant of Jaehaerys. Just as he had been named in honour of Daemon Targaryen, who had first conquered the Stepstones, his son was so named in honour of Jaehaerys I Targaryen, known to history as the Wise.

"Haerys," he answered, being quickly reminded of something. "Oh, go and get the egg."

"Which one your grace?"

"Any will do."

Maester Marwyn nodded, heading towards another part of the keep, Daemon heading to the room where his wife and son rested.

The child was sleeping in the cot, faint strands of silver hair on his head. Haerys had not yet opened his eyes, so he was oblivious to their colour. Either the purple of the Targaryens, or the green of the Lannisters, although he was not about to place any bets on it. He caressed the face of his son, faintly so that he would not wake the sleeping infant, patiently waiting until Maester Marwyn had arrived. It took a few moments, but the man eventually arrived in the room, carrying a golden egg in his hands.

"Here, your grace," said the maester as he handed the egg.

Daemon took the egg, feeling the golden scaly shell before depositing he egg near his new-born son. It was an old Targaryen tradition, which he had seen fit to continue, especially considering the circumstances in which he had acquired the egg.

"Keep and eye on both," he ordered. "I'll be gone for a while."

Marwyn nodded. "Yes, your grace."

Walking to the bed where his wife rested, he knelt down and kissed her forehead, feeling its warmth. Quickly leaving the room, Daemon went to a restricted section of the keep, where no servant nor guard was allowed entrance. Only him and Marwyn. To enter this section, one would have to pass a door guarded by two elite guards, who had been given express orders on how to fulfil their roles. Behind the door, and long corridor gave way to a stairwell, leading into the depts of the coastal hill that the Bloodstone Keep had been built upon. At the bottom was a massive cavernous expanse, with an equally large opening into the sea, gaping like a wound. But most of the cavern was dry, the water stopped by a curious natural dam. It was the perfect place to store a ship, in case a quick escape was needed. But beyond such use, Daemon gave the cavern another purpose.

Although the dawn's light had not yet penetrated the cave, within it he could clearly see the shape of the one he considered to be his oldest and greatest friend. A shape that the faint light of the braziers near the stairwell brought from the darkness.

"My friend!" spoke Daemon. "It's time to celebrate!"

And as dawn came to the Stepstones, the morning was born with the roar of a dragon.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** _

As I said above, this follows a scenario I conjured. House Goldfyre is a Targaryen cadet formed from the descendants of the legitimized Duncan Goldfyre, son of Prince Daeron Targaryen and a highborn lady, conceived during Daeron's teenage years, in a drunken state. Daeron named his child Duncan after his eldest brother, Duncan Targaryen, and after his brother's own namesake as well. After his death during the rebellion of the Rat, the Hawk and the Pig, Daeron's father Aegon V decided to legitimize Duncan, who then led a campaign that secured the Stepstones, proclaiming himself as their king, and establishing House Goldfyre, picking the name in direct opposition of House Blackfyre.

Harry's reincarnation – Haerys Goldfyre - is the grandson of King Duncan I Goldfyre, and heir to the Stepstones.

Also, the OC in the story's character tags refers to the Goldfyres and Haerys's mother.


	2. Golden and Red

_**Chapter 2 – Golden and Red** _

The war was over in Westeros.

With the Targaryens all but destroyed, it was Robert Baratheon that now sat upon the Iron Throne, the city of King's Landing taken thanks to the assistance of Tywin Lannister. But the presence of the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands did not last long there, nor did that of his bannermen.

"Ser Kevan, a raven arrived for you two days ago," spoke the castellan of Casterly Rock, handing a special cylinder used by the Goldfyres. "From Bloodstone."

Kevan took hold of the cylinder, the three-headed dragon of the Targaryens engraved on it proving its sender. He removed the letter from the inside, reading it carefully and feeling a sudden joy at the contents, quickly replaced by dread.

"Is something the matter?" asked Tywin upon seeing that his brother stood there, wordless.

"I have a grandson."

That had stopped Tywin. He was quickly reminded of Kevan's eldest daughter, Jeyne, and her marriage to Daemon Goldfyre, the King of the Stepstones. A man who was a legitimate Targaryen, despite the name of his house. A man whose blood made him a target for Robert Baratheon.

But his brother also understood how dangerous the situation was, considering the fates of Elia Martell and her children, and how Baratheon was calling for the deaths of the surviving Targaryens.

"Have you?" said Tywin. "What's the boy's name?"

"Haerys."

"They named their son after the Mad King?"

Kevan shook his head. "No. Not Aerys. Haerys with an 'h'. The letter says it was after the Conciliator."

A diminished form of Jaehaerys, Tywin concluded, finding it a curious choice for a name.

"If Robert Baratheon dares to harm a hair on that child's head, or even order it, I will ride to King's Landing and kill him myself."

And Tywin knew his brother would keep that promise. After all, a Lannister would always pay his debts.

But the birth of Haerys Goldfyre put him in a precarious situation. Putting the Goldfyre name aside, the boy was both Targaryen and Lannister, a combination that he had previously hoped to create with his daughter and Rhaegar Targaryen. The boy had a far more legitimate claim to the Iron Throne than Robert ever did, considering he descended from the Targaryens on the male line. Duncan Goldfyre may have been a bastard, but he was legitimized, and that was enough to make him and his descendants viable candidates to the throne.

A Lannister on the Iron Throne was next to impossible, so Tywin would settle for the next best thing. And both his daughter and that of his brother were good candidates to achieve it. But if war came to pass, he knew whose claimant would the remaining Targeryen loyalists support, and it would be no child of Cercei and Robert. If the time came to choose a side, he would have to do so carefully.

"Robert would be stupid to attack them," said Tywin. "Not unless he wants the Free Cities landing their armies on our shores."

Disrupting the peace enforced by the Goldfyres on the Stepstones was something anyone with half a brain didn't want. The safety of the Narrow Sea was something enjoyed by Westerosi and Essosi traders alike. If Robert went to war against the Stepstones due to a grudge and the possibility of resistance to his claim on the throne, then he would have to contend with both a civil war and an invasion from the Free Cities.

"Regardless, I would like to see them before anything happens," spoke Kevan. "Do I have permission to travel to Bloodstone?"

Tywin looked at his brother before giving a firm nod.

"Do hurry. I have need of you here."

* * *

It took many days for Ser Kevan to arrive at Bloodstone, having to travel to the Stormlands so that he could catch a ship to the Stepstones had been necessary, and far faster than travelling from Lannisport to Bloodstone by sea. But he did arrive, safe and sound with no interference. The sight of Bloodstone Keep still intimidated him. The fortress was as black as Dragonstone, yet smaller. But there was something ominous about it. Perhaps it was its old reputation as a haven for pirates, or perhaps it was the name. Bloodstone was not a name that inspired good thoughts.

"Father!"

Yet the sight of his daughter removed such thoughts from Kevan's mind, and he joined her in an embrace.

"Jeyne, it is so good to see you."

"Ser Kevan, welcome to Bloodstone," said Daemon as he approached. "I hope you met no trouble on the way."

"Thank you, your grace. Not at all. The voyage was rather calm," he said. "But I'm afraid the coming times won't be. Robert Baratheon has taken the Iron Throne for himself."

"We know father."

"Then you also know that he has a vendetta against all Targaryens, you included, I'm certain," warned Kevan. "Any he sees as rivals for his hold on the throne. He may attempt to kill you."

"He may try. But he will fail," declared Daemon.

"What makes you so certain?"

"Tell me, Ser Kevan," said Daemon. "You haven't been near a glass candle for the past twenty years, have you?"

Kevan shook his head. "No. Why?"

Daemon nodded and turned towards his wife. "Should I?"

She gave a small shrug.

"I would call it folly, but it sends a good warning."

Daemon hummed and thought. Perhaps he was showing his hand too soon, and perhaps not. What good was a hand if it had no use, after all.

"Come with us, Ser Kevan. There's something you need to be shown."

Looking at his daughter in confusion, she simply smiled, leading her father by the arm, as the two were guided by Daemon into the depths of Bloodstone, towards the forbidden stairwell. Descending it, they could all hear and smell the sea, the waves echoing in the large cavern. But there was also something else, a sound which neither water not wind could make. And when Daemon saw his father-in-law set his eyes upon the source of this sound, he could not help but smile.

There, in the flat and dry surface of the sea cave, slept two beasts of the likes which people had only seen in illustration and heard of in legends and tales. One of the dragons could be said to be Balerion returned, were it not for the dragon's own appearance. This one was not a "black dread", but a golden beauty, the scales gleaming as if made from the sun's very light, and the membranes of its wings of a light purple tone. Near it was a smaller dragon, half the size of the larger one, had red scales, half of them gleaming in white as they reflected the sunlight which entered the cave.

"How?" was the only word Kevan managed to speak.

"Summerhall," explained Daemon, amused by his father-in-law's shock. "All that death and fire wasn't for nothing. My father scavenged the ruins after the fire, and found the egg, which he brought here. "

"How… how long?" asked Kevan. "

"Since my birth. The egg hatched in my crib, and we became bonded since then," answered Daemon with a pleased, if not smug, smile. "Those rumours of dragons in the Narrow Sea and Essos… that may have been me and Sunfyre."

The presence of two dragons had not been missed by Kevan. "You said your father took one egg from Summerhall. Where did the red one come from?"

"From one of Sunfyre's eggs."

There were two dragons in the world, and no one knew of it. It seemed incredibly surreal.

"Is it wild?"

"No. He's bonded to me."

The look that Kevan sent towards his daughter almost made Daemon break down in laughter.

"You? You're a dragonrider? I thought only Valyrians could tame such a creature."

"Perhaps none of had a dragon at their side its birth, father," she suggested. "I'm afraid I don't know myself. But Urrax's egg hatched in my hands, and the little one liked me ever since."

A huffed laugh came from Kevan's lips. "Little?"

"Well, he was," said Jeyne as she glanced at the red dragon. "But every year he grows… might even reach the size of his… mother… father… I'm not sure."

Daemon stepped forward, putting a hand on Kevan's shoulder.

"You see now, Ser Kevan? This is what's expecting Robert Baratheon and his allies, if they dare to trespass on our shores."

Fire and Blood.

Never had those words been truer since the Dance of the Dragons, thought Kevan Lannister, pondering on the fact that his daughter and her husband each rode one.

"And yet you keep yourselves here, in these isles. You could have conquered Westeros by now."

"I don't have plans to conquer the Seven Kingdoms. Not now that is," admitted Daemon. "When we reveal our dragons to the world, they will be a good deterrent for any invasions."

Deterrent was not the word Kevan would choose.

"Well, enough about dragons and Baratheons," he spoke after collecting his thoughts. "Let's talk about my grandson."

* * *

"Presenting Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Dragonstone."

Daemon knew it would not be long before something like this happened. He had been expecting it, but he wasn't sure when it would happen. And now he had the brother of the Usurper standing before him, likely to present either a demand or a truce. Likely the former, knowing Robert Baratheon's recent actions.

"You stand before Daemon Goldfyre, First of His Name, King of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea," spoke Marwyn, in his position as Hand of the King. "State the reason of your visit, Lord Baratheon."

Daemon looked at the man. A few years younger than him, Stannis Baratheon stood there, stiff as a plank of wood, and face harder than stone. Stripped of his weapon by the guards, the only thing he held was a sealed letter.

"I come at the orders of my brother, King Robert, to deliver a message to the King of the Stepstones," said Stannis, motioning the letter in his hand slightly.

A guard stepped forward and took the letter from Stannis, then walking towards the throne.

"Your grace," said the guard as he handed the letter to Daemon.

Daemon took the letter and unsealed it, quickly reading the contents, his eyes narrowing as he finished reading the paper. He then handed the letter to Marwyn, before looking back at Stannis with an unreadable expression on his face. There was a moment of silence before anyone spoke, and it was quickly broken by the king.

"You are eldest of Robert Baratheon's younger brothers, am I correct?"

Despite not understanding the purpose of the question, Stannis still answered.

"I am, yes."

"And yet you were made Lord of Dragonstone, not of Storm's End. Not only that, you were sent here as a glorified messenger, when he could have easily sent a raven. May I ask why?"

There was a twitch in Stannis' face, which Daemon guessed to be the gritting of the man's teeth.

"I cannot claim to know the intentions of my brother."

"I assume you know the contents of the letter. Has your brother has told you the reason for coming here?"

A nod. "He has."

"Then I can tell you I don't know what his intentions about this matter are either. Does he wish to slaughter my family and I, as he did with the Targaryens, or perhaps force me to bend the knee to him? I cannot tell, but I assure you none of those things will happen. None of us shall set foot in King's Landing until we have an assurance that we shall not be harmed, be it by your brother or any of his bannermen. Nor shall we bend the knee to him. The Stepstones are and shall remain independent from the Seven Kingdoms. If any attempts of invasion are made, remember what happened to the Ninepenny Kings. Remember who broke them and their ships."

Of course, he would not tell Stannis that he had a fiery surprise awaiting any would-be invader. And if any fool tried to infiltrate the keep by using the large cave beneath it… well, Sunfyre and Urrax did enjoy trespassers.

"Tell this to your brother. Tell him we are willing to parley if he is, but we shall make no concessions."

Stannis nodded, knowing that the audience was over. "Very well."

Daemon watched as Stannis turned around, walking towards the throne room's exit.

"I am not your enemy, Lord Stannis," he called out, making the Lord of Dragonstone quickly turn around. "But if your brother comes seeking war, he shall have it. And we shall break him."

As much as Stannis doubted it, there was something in the boldness of that statement that made him question his own doubts.

Perhaps it would be a dangerous affair to test the golden dragons.


	3. Haerys Goldfyre

_**Chapter 3 – Haerys Goldfyre** _

For eleven years, Daemon saw as his only child grew up.

From the small infant to the boy he was now, Haerys was in appearance a rather curious mixture of himself and Jeyne. As he grew older and gradually lost the pudginess of youth, it became clear what he had inherited from who. The diamond shaped face had been from Jeyne, as well as the nose, yet the rest was all his – the other facial features, the silver hair, and the purple eyes.

And as the years passed, both he and Jeyne had made sure to give the best education possible to their son, as befit to the heir to the throne. Affairs of the court were taught by the two, and also by observation, something which Haerys usually did when he was inside the throne room. Matters of war and battle were given to Daemon, while naval matters were given to the Warden of the Summer Sea, who was considered by many as the best admiral in the known world. Ser Kevan had once proposed that he foster Haerys at Casterly Rock and take him as a squire, but Daemon had to decline on the grounds that fostering was not a part of Valyrian custom, and that becoming a squire, and by extension a knight, required the individual to follow the Faith of the Seven, something which neither he nor Haerys did. Not to mention that Haerys' safety could not be assured in the Seven Kingdoms until a formal arrangement was made between the Iron Throne and the Stepstones.

Despite being rather disappointed Kevan had accepted the explanation, and the matter never surfaced again.

The training had been happening for nearly an hour, and Daemon had been rather relentless in his training. He had received the same sort of training from his father, and considering how successful it had been, there was no reason why Haerys would be free from it. He blocked another blow from his son, in his hands a sword that seemed foreign to him. It was different from the Valyrian steel he usually wielded, but in training Haerys, it would be dangerous to use such a weapon. Normal steel was good enough for now.

"You can do better than that."

The child had potential, but his mood usually could either make a session successful, or a complete failure. Unfortunately, it seemed that today they were leaning towards the latter, given the amount of frowns and grinding of teeth coming from his son. Of course, he had not been expecting his son's next move, and nothing could have prepared him for it. Being kicked in the groin, regardless of the strength, was never a pleasant thing. The sudden attack was enough for Daemon to drop the sword in shock and to fall to one knee in pain.

"Shit… Haerys what was that for?"

But the young prince had thrown away his sword, and was now angrily leaving the small courtyard, disappearing into a corridor.

"Haerys!" he shouted, receiving no answer. "Balls…"

He had to find him, but only after getting rid of the pain.

* * *

"I should have known you came here."

Having searched the most obvious places in the castle for Haerys to be, and finding these empty, Daemon knew there was only another place where his son could be. The dragon cave was as it had always been, except it now housed three dragons. The oldest was Sunfyre, whose rider was Daemon himself, the dragon having hatched when the then prince was still in the crib. Of the offspring of Sunfyre, Urrax was the eldest, whose rider was Jeyne. And the youngest of the three was Artaxes, who had hatched a few days after his egg was put next to Haerys.

"They don't like it here," mumbled Haerys as he threw a bloody piece of meat at Artaxes.

The youngest of the dragons was very similar to its progenitor. His body was covered in golden scales, although his wings and frills were of a black and red mixture. He was smaller than both Sunfyre and Urrax, but considering how those two had grown over the last decade, Artaxes would soon grow to be their size as well.

"The Targaryens made the mistake of locking them away in the dragon pits, putting the dragons in chains. We shall not make the same mistake," said Daemon as he sat next to his son. "There will come a time when we'll soar freely through the skies once more, in open day. No more hiding them from the world."

"When?"

"In time," said Daemon, before looking at his son. "You've been having those dreams, haven't you?"

The boy was silent for a moment, before giving a small nod. "How do you know?"

"You are usually moody when it happens," answered Daemon. "Tell me… what did you see?"

There was a moment of silence where the only sound came from either the dragons, or the sea. But the voice of Haerys soon joined them.

"There was that castle again, the one with many tall towers. But then I was somewhere else… a strange place with many trees and ruins. I think it was… day? I'm not sure," said Haerys as he attempted to recall the dreams. "There were shadows which flew above me… black shapes that left… trails of fire behind them. Then I saw myself somewhere else… with many trees and ruins. It was day, I think… no sun, but there were many shadows and shapes which moved above me, leaving behind them trails of fire."

"What happened next?"

"I woke up."

Dreams like these were not normal, that much Daemon knew. He also knew that those with old Valyrian blood were predisposed to have strange visions in their dreams, visions which were known to be prophetic. It had been so with Daenys Targaryen, when she allegedly dreamt of the Doom of Valyria, and event that would happen a decade later.

"But… they're just dreams, right?" asked Haerys.

At this age, it was best for the boy to be focused on other things. Prophecy was often the mistress of death.

"It's difficult to explain what they are. I don't even know if what I believe is true. For now, I'll keep it a secret."

Haerys frowned. "I don't like secrets."

In turn, Daemon chuckled. "No one likes secrets unless they're the ones hiding them. You also have secrets, don't you?"

"N-No."

That was possibly the least convincing lie he had ever heard.

"Dwelling on dreams is seldom good, Harry."

Harry.

That nickname had been given to Haerys by Jeyne, and now it had stuck. It was only used when they were alone, but for some reason, Haerys liked it. He wasn't sure why, but it felt right.

The two were suddenly startled as a bird flew right between them. They looked at the animal and saw that it had been a crow.

"Oh, it's that old thing," he mumbled, looking at the crow as it landed on top of a rock, away from the dragons. "What's it doing here?"

"Maybe it's exploring," suggested Harry.

Daemon shrugged. "Well, it's just a crow. Speaking of birds, you should go and meet with the High Maester. Your sessions will start soon, I believe."

* * *

Marywn enjoyed these sessions with the young prince. What he knew of the other maesters under the employ of the Westerosi lords, the children under their tutelage rarely gave importance to both the mystical, or what the Citadel wanted to teach, neglecting certain things about the world. The intentions were noble… most of them. He was all for advancements in technology and medicine, were it not the fact that most of these were kept in books who were then shut behind bars or placed in vaults beneath the Citadel, never to be seen again. The problem was with the Citadel's attitude towards the magical, or rather what they considered magical and unnatural.

If something was unnatural, then it would not exist. As simple as that. Magic was part of the world, born with it. What right had the Citadel to decide it had no place in the world?

None.

But Haerys was a rather curious exception to all that. The boy enjoyed his teachings, both the mundane and the non-mundane, and also everything else, be it martial or of the court. There was a reason people called him "Marwyn the Mage", but the boy before him seemed to be on the way to earn the title for his own.

The horn of the unicorn was on another table, its tip broken off and grinded into powder. The moonstone had been broken in half, one turned into powder, while the porcupine quills had suffered the same fate.

"Powdered moonstone, unicorn horn, porcupine quills… and paste of hellebore…? What in the seven hells are you doing?"

He watched as the young prince added a pinch of powdered unicorn horn to the boiling liquid, which quickly turned into a pinkish tone.

"You called it trial and error, I think," replied Haerys as he now stirred the liquid.

He looked at the notes he had taken, remembering them from his dreams. Unfortunately, most were fragmented, and he had to resort to trial and error in order to fill in the blank spots. This potion had eluded him for five months, but he was sure that this time… he would succeed.

The pink had now turned into red.

"Why are you so certain this will work? You have spent five months with this."

"Well… don't maesters do the same thing with their experiments?"

At least that was something he was certain of.

"There's a difference between an initiate in the medicinal and alchemical arts and a maester."

Haerys did not look away from his work. "One is young while the others are decrepit old men?"

"Can't argue with that," mumbled Marwyn. "I'm a maester. Am I old and decrepit too?"

"No. You're different. Besides, I like you."

Haerys grabbed a vial with a green liquid which he had managed to extract from the paste of hellebore, having needed to do so in order to remove the poisonous elements of the plant, and added seven drops into the potion. When the seventh drop fell into the potion, he felt very anxious. It was ironic, really, considering what the potion was for, but the sudden emergence of silver fumes dissipated the nervousness.

There it was. Haerys knew that this was somehow the expected result. The silvery fumes that now came from the liquid meant he had successfully brewed this… calming potion? It was certainly that, if his visons were true at all. He had a hunch that it calmed down whoever drank it, but nothing would be proven unless it was tested.

"Done!"

"Is it? What's it supposed to be?"

"A calming potion," explained Haerys. "A substitute for sweetsleep, without the side effects."

Marwyn stepped closer to the small cauldron and smelled what the prince had brewed. Curiously enough, it had no discernible smell, despite the ingredients used in its creation.

"And how are you about to see if this works, eh? Certainly, you won't be testing it yourself."

"I was thinking about one of the prisoners," admitted Haerys. "They're usually the most anxious people around."

To say that the look Marwyn gave was sceptical would be an understatement.

"I was thinking about the really bad ones. You know, murderers and the sort."

"I would not consider it to be ethical," pointed out the maester.

"This won't kill anyone," claimed Haerys. "Worst case, it puts them to sleep… Hopefully."

Marwyn snorted. "Hopefully."

* * *

Yet when they had returned from the dungeons, Marwyn was in a state of near shock. The potion had functioned exactly as his pupil had said it would. His experiences with Haerys had already made him aware that the boy was clever, even for someone near the age of twelve. But this was something completely unexpected. But now he had the imprisoned pirate under observation. If the man showed no ill effects, then Haerys Goldfyre would be known as the first non-maester to have made a breakthrough in the field of medicine.

At least the first that history would remember.

"High Maester, there's a raven on the table."

He had been so distracted by his thoughts that he had not noticed the rather obvious bird right in front of him, carrying with it a sealed letter. Haerys had gently removed the letter from the raven, allowing the bird to fly away through the open window. The price looked at the letter, sealed with red wax, a symbol engraved there.

"A stag?"

Marwyn looked at the letter, quickly deducing its origin.

"Go on child… which house has a stag as its sigil?"

It didn't take long for Haerys to guess.

"Baratheon?"

A nod. "Correct. And what is House Baratheon known for?"

"Rebelling against the Targaryens and usurping the throne?"

A bit too blunt.

"Close, but that's not the answer I want. Try again."

The prince frowned. "Ruling Westeros?"

Marwyn nodded once more. "Indeed. So, a raven with the seal of House Baratheon can only mean it's an important message. And one certainly for your father."

"Can I go and give it to him?"

The High Maester sighed. "You may."

* * *

The court of the Stepstones was a strange and wonderful thing.

Any foreigner would find themselves baffled by how the court of the Stepstones worked, The system had been created by Duncan Goldfyre, and was inherited by Daemon, who had been taught how it functioned, and how it should be handled. The late king had been very meticulous in educating his heir in the affairs of the realm.

Equally meticulous was the process of becoming part of the court of the Stepstones, something which was known in both Essos and Westeros. So meticulous that any man that fell from the King's grace would be in danger of being ostracized by any potential employers in these two continents. Duncan Goldfyre had not been know for being petty, and his son had followed in his footsteps. If someone had displeased him to the point of exile – either official or self-inflicted – then employing them would likely be counter-productive.

But as he walked past the courtiers, Haerys could understand only a few sentences in the cacophony of sounds.

"The skirmishes in the Disputed Lands are becoming far more frequent! Perhaps we should…"

"… past the limit. We'll have to collect soon…"

"Send the heads to the port and take out the old ones. Leave Greyjoy's there for…"

"… found a dead kraken floating near Oros…"

"… was dead on arrival. Met an accident on the road to Volantis…"

"Send a raven to Lord Manderly and thank him for the assistance…"

Now ignoring them, he looked at the throne in which his father sat, his mother sitting in a smaller one next to him. Besides her, there were also two men speaking with his father. One was Lucerys Velaryon, the current Archon of Sunstone, while the other was Ryos Laharis, the current Warden of the Summer Sea. Son-in-law and father-in-law respectively. Not only that, but each the leader of the most powerful factions within the court, currently in alliance due to the marriage of Lucerys with a daughter of Ryos.

"Haerys? Should you not be with the High Master?" asked his mother as she noticed him approaching.

"A raven arrived from Westeros," said the boy, showing the letter. "With this."

Daemon looked surprised at his son's claim.

"Westeros?" he spoke, grabbing the letter and looking at the seal.

Well, now this was a surprise. The Baratheon stag was known to him, so this either came from King's Landing, Storm's End, or Dragonstone.

"Thank you for bringing this Haerys. You may go now."

Haerys frowned. He wanted to say, but he knew there was no point in trying to fight his father in this matter. He left the throne room rather irritated. Daemon knew exactly where his son had gone to, as it was the only place where he would go when angry. But Haerys' soon-to-be whereabouts were not of interest right now. The letter, on the other hand, was.

"This is interesting…"

"Your grace?"

"The message is from Jon Arryn. He says that Robert Baratheon wishes for a formal reconciliation with us and officially end any hostilities between the two realms," announced Daemon. "Furthermore, if we accept, Robert is to hold a tournament in King's Landing in honour of the event."

"After all this time?" wondered Lucerys Velaryon. "This is quite a random move."

"Has Jon Arryn finally managed to get Robert in a sober enough state so that he could convince him to do this?" suggested Jeyne.

"Sober, your grace? I wouldn't be so certain," said Ryos. "My guess is that Lord Arryn found King Robert in a 'merry' enough state and took the opportunity."

Daemon sighed.

"Sober or drunk, it matters little. We have here an opportunity that he can't let pass," he declared. "I'll have to arrange for a ship to take me there."

"You'll go alone?" asked Jeyne.

"Of course not. I'll take several guards for my protection. But I won't take either you or Haerys. If I die, be it by a trap or a storm, then he will take the throne, and you will be his regent until he comes of age."

Jeyne kept a passive face, but she disliked the prospect of having her husband go alone in such a perilous voyage. The thought of Daemon dying was unbearable to her, and know Haerys, his reaction to such an event would not be pleasant.

If it came to pass, and Robert Baratheon or any of his allies had any hand in it, then she would personally bathe Westeros in fire.

After all, Lannisters always paid their debts.

* * *

The day had been tiring for Haerys, so when the night came, all he did was close the curtains and settle down inside his bed, letting himself fall sleep minutes later. In these moments, the sleep was dreamless, and Haerys knew nothing until a loud and sharp noise woke him up.

He jolted himself up. The light of the moon came through the window, illuminating the room in a mystical light and allowing him to see the source of the noise. Contrary to all expectations, there was a crow on his nightstand, looking at him as if he was a curiosity.

"Valar morghulis."

He quickly turned at the voice, seeing a cloaked figure standing before his bed. The crow had flown away from the nightstand and had landed on the figure's shoulder.

"Valar dohaeris."

Despite the situation, the answer had been almost instinctive. He had spoken and heard those words so many times that he no longer hesitated or thought when answering back.

"Nyke jaelagon naejot ȳdragon lēda ao, Haerys hen Valyrio Uēpo ānogār iksan."

Haerys looked in surprise at the intruder, answering back in the same language. "Ao ȳdragon Valyrīha?"

"I can speak any language, dead or living," claimed the figure, now speaking the common tongue. "Some time has passed since we last spoke. Or rather, since I spoke with the man you once were."

Still half-asleep, Haerys' mind did not manage to process what the figure had said.

"What?"

"I suppose being mysterious won't work. Fine then," said the figure, a note of irritation in his voice. "In a past life, you died and were reborn in this world as Haerys Goldfyre. The dreams you've been having for the last few years… they are not dreams at all. They're memories, or rather, echoes of memories."

Haerys had been about to dismiss the intruder's ridiculous claims, but the mention of his dreams had stopped him.

"What do you know about my dreams?" he asked quietly, although making the question sound more like a demand.

"Memories which are returning to you in the best way possible. A reincarnated soul is not supposed to retain any memories of its past life, but you are a special case."

The figure brought his hands to the hood that covered his face and lowered it. Haerys looked at the face of the intruder and made a silent gasp. The face was of someone who seemed to be near his sixteenth nameday, with messy dark hair and green eyes, and an odd scar in his forehead.

"Harry Potter."

As soon as that word had left his lips, Haerys' eyes widened in surprise. Why exactly had he said that name? Harry was the nickname that his mother had given to him, but his mind had automatically associated it with the person in front of him. And Potter… there was something eerily familiar about it alike.

"Who's… who's that? Who's Harry Potter?" he demanded.

The figure just pointed at him.

"I am currently taking the form your past self, one which your soul has instinctively recognized," said the being. "The same which I used when I explained to your past self what would happen."

"Who are you? No… what are you?"

The figure smiled.

"I'm known by many names in this world. The Faith of the Seven calls me the Stranger, the Faceless Men of Braavos know me as the Many-Faced God, those of Yi Ti call me the Lion of Night, while those who worship R'hllor believe me to be the Great Other. Amongst your gods I'm - "

"I get it," interrupted Haerys. "You're Death."

The entity smiled again.

"I am Death."

Haerys gulped, feeling any confidence he had vanishing.

"In your past life, you had the ability to perform magic, one which you now have as well," said Death. "Perhaps you will recall these."

As soon as Death spoke, two peculiar looking familiar looking twigs appeared at his feet, the cloaked being grabbing the left one first.

"Holly wood, eleven inches long with a phoenix feather core. Nice and supple," he declared. "This wand once belonged to your past self. Burnt, at his funeral, and recovered by me."

Putting down the holly wood wand, Death grabbed the other one.

"Elderberry wood, fifteen inches long with a Thestral tail-hair," he continued. "The Elder Wand of legend, created by Antioch Peverell with instructions I gave to him. The most powerful of all wands, still recognizing you as its master."

He placed the wand back where it was, before looking directly at Haerys.

"Nostalgia or pragmatism… the choice is yours. You can choose one, and only one."

Haerys glanced at Death, before looking back at the wands once more.

"So, which one will you take?"

Haerys took a deep breath, hoping not to regret this choice later.

"This one," he said as he grabbed the Elder Wand.

The moment he did so, he felt a strange sensation in his body, no doubt originating in the wand. Acceptance… recognition… he wasn't sure what exactly it was, but there was no doubt that this "Elder Wand" was his now.

"You've made your choice. The Elder Wand is once again yours, as is the ability to perform the magic of the world you came from," said Death. "This is the first of my boons, Haerys Goldfyre. Now… it's time to wake up."

The figure snapped his fingers, and suddenly the room disappeared, and Haerys opened his eyes, now staring at the sky outside his bedroom's window. He was back in his bed, the blanket covering his body and pillow beneath his head. Had that all been a dream? No, it couldn't have. It was far too realistic to have been a normal dream, even one of those he sometimes had… those that the figure called Death claimed to have been past memories.

Getting up, Haerys glanced around, before spotting something on top of the nightstand.

The Elder Wand.

"It wasn't a dream," thought Haerys enthusiastically as he grabbed the wand.

It felt strange in his hands, but the sensation of ownership was still present. Haerys knew this opened many new opportunities to him. The ability to perform magic has once again his, and now he had a wand to perform said magic… something which he somehow remembered.

He could remember magic.

" _Lumos_."

The sudden illumination of the room gave him great reason to smile.

* * *

_**Translations:** _

**\- Nyke jaelagon naejot ȳdragon lēda ao, Haerys hen Valyrio Uēpo ānogār iksan** – I wish to speak with you, Haerys of the blood of Old Valyria.

\- **Ao ȳdragon Valyrīha?** – You speak Valyrian?


End file.
